


Mayhem Ficlets

by CrystalNinjaPhoenix



Category: jacksepticeye
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:48:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 14,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25351159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrystalNinjaPhoenix/pseuds/CrystalNinjaPhoenix
Summary: A collection of various short ficlets that were written in May 2019 to celebrate the one year anniversary of Ego Mayhem 2018. Spamming a variety of different environments and scenarios, all with one or more of the boys at the center.
Kudos: 3





	1. Into the Madness

**Author's Note:**

> This was a writing challenge I did over on Tumblr, based on an artist prompt list created by septic-bella on there. I basically used it as a way to experiment with different concepts and ways of writing, so there's a whole bunch of different things in here that are disconnected from everything else. They're short and fun, though, so here I am, sharing them. Hope you enjoy.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

The others would definitely think so. He could practically hear them screaming at him in his mind. But he shook them away. This was no time to worry, this was a time to act. If his plan succeeded, they’d at the very least have a better chance. And if it failed? Well. At least nobody else would get hurt.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. No words for this spell, just sheer force of will, and a hope that if he detected his magic, the other side of the gate would open as well. When he opened his eyes again, they were glowing green, vibrant fire and energy wrapping around his hands. Now, just had to wait.

It didn’t take long. Something snapped into place, an electric crack that wasn’t caused by anything in the room. Despite his open eyes, the room went dark. No sound, no light, no movement, no anything, just darkness.

Then he was falling. Rolling, skidding down a hill with oof-inducing thumps. It didn’t level out, just ended. He fell a few feet, landing hard on a ground of metal shavings that sliced open his palms when he pushed to his feet. The world around him was red, just red. It smelled of ozone, and there was a low electric whine in the air. The ground of sharp splinters extended for a while before suddenly dropping to a lower level, which eventually hit a metal wall with no entrances. Black fabric was suspended off the ground to his left and right. It looked like…like a stage, but there was no place for an audience, just an empty room.

An electric crackling came from above him. He looked up, only to have to suddenly shield his eyes when a sickly green light burst into being, shining onto him like a spotlight.

“T̶he star haş f̨in͢ally ̨arr̴iv̸e̵d̵.” The empty room flashed for a moment, briefly showing hundreds of shadowy people packed in too small a space. The scattered sound of applause mixed with static rang out. “N̶ǫw̷ ͡let̶ the҉ s̷h̡ow̛ ̴b͢egi̷n͢!”


	2. Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of various short ficlets that were written in May 2019 to celebrate the one year anniversary of Ego Mayhem 2018. Spamming a variety of different environments and scenarios, all with one or more of the boys at the center.

A thin, steady stream of blood was trickling into his eyes from the cut on his head. His vision was swimming, wavering. He blinked slowly. Then, also slowly, reached up and wiped away the blood so he could see. 

He was sitting outside, on a knoll covered in short, scrubby grass. There were slender trees on the higher ground. The grassy lower ground continued on, a field before him. The sky above was littered with stars, fireflies resting on a black sheet.

It took him a few seconds to realize he didn’t recognize anything. Once he reached that conclusion, it was a while before alarm set in. His thoughts were moving sluggishly, and he wasn’t sure if that was because of the apparent blow to the head or because the drink was still in his system. Either way, it took him a few minutes to stand up, stumbling and nearly falling again.

What happened? The last thing he remembered, he’d left the bar to walk home, insisting he could still find the way. He’d walked for a bit and then…what? He shook his head, causing a stabbing ache behind his eyes. It didn’t matter, he had to get back.

He searched through his pockets, finding that he still had his phone. He tried the first contact, but nobody picked up. Same for all the others. It was like the call wasn’t going through at all.

“Are you lost?”

The voice had come from the trees. He spun around, staggering a bit, and saw two green lights hidden between the trunks. He knew that should alarm him, but he just felt…calm. Such a soothing voice. Like a choir all on its own.

A hand reached out, beckoning. “Come on, little one. I’ll bring you home.”

He didn’t think twice before following the eyes into the trees.


	3. The Calm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of various short ficlets that were written in May 2019 to celebrate the one year anniversary of Ego Mayhem 2018. Spamming a variety of different environments and scenarios, all with one or more of the boys at the center.

“Listen to the sound of my voice. Focus on what’s around you.”

He latched onto the words. A lifeline, a steady rock against the raging river of panic. Focus. But focus was hard, he was breathing too quickly and his thoughts were scattered to the wind.

“Okay, okay, just take deep breaths. Uh, here.” He felt hands on either one of his shoulders, the weight warm and steady in the face of hysteria and chaos. He opened his eyes, and found he was staring into a pair of blue ones, a lighter shade than his own. “Does that help?”

He nodded.

“Okay. Now, deep breaths. C’mon, I’ll help you. Breathe in…” The speaker demonstrated, inhaling slowly. He did his best to copy him, breath coming in shaky bursts that long to fall back into quick gasps. “And out…” The speaker exhaled equally slowly, and he followed along. “In…” Inhale. “Out…” Exhale. They repeated until he was able to breath more or less normally.

He put a shaky hand on the speaker’s arm, a silent plea to keep going.

“Alright. Now, I want you to repeat after me. Repeat after me. Okay? This is a safe place.”

_This is a safe place._

“I’m not in any danger here.”

_I’m not in any danger here._

“Nothing bad is happening.”

_Nothing bad is happening._

“There isn’t a threat. I’m safe.”

_There isn’t a threat. I’m safe._

“You’re doing good.” The speaker smiled encouragingly, tilting back his head so he could easier see his face underneath the red hood. “You’re okay. It’s okay. Nothing is happening. Do you feel better now?”

He nodded. Things were beginning to calm, the world settling down firmly in its time and place. Breathing was easier, and the fluttering tightness in his chest was finally lessening.

“Do you need anything? Like, a blanket or something?”

After a moment of thought, he replied that he wouldn’t say no to a cup of tea.

“Heh. Alright then. C’mon, we’ll go to the kitchen and get that.”


	4. The Doctor is Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of various short ficlets that were written in May 2019 to celebrate the one year anniversary of Ego Mayhem 2018. Spamming a variety of different environments and scenarios, all with one or more of the boys at the center.

Technically this was illegal. Technically he’d just broken into the hospital and could be arrested for breaking and entering. And technically he was still a missing person case, so if he did end up getting arrested, the police would start asking questions he couldn’t answer without sounding insane.

But on the other hand, he wasn’t going to just sit by and let this keep happening. That would be giving up. Letting him win.

Nobody even gave him a second look as he stormed through the halls, travelling a familiar route to a familiar door. He eyes locked onto the changed nameplate and he gritted his teeth. He could hear someone talking in the room beyond. Even through the door, it sounded arrogant and irritating. “What are you doing?!” He shouted, pushing the door open.

The impostor was sitting at _his_ desk, in _his_ chair. He had to admit, it was a great likeness. But he knew the truth. The impostor’s eyes were fearful and guilty, like he’d just been caught in the midst of a crime. They were also empty. Soulless. An empty shell meant for one purpose: to replace him. To mock him. “What?” the impostor gasped. “Who are you?”

“I am the good doctor!” He ripped off the mask, eyes smoldering. “And that is _my_ chair!”


	5. Stories Untold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of various short ficlets that were written in May 2019 to celebrate the one year anniversary of Ego Mayhem 2018. Spamming a variety of different environments and scenarios, all with one or more of the boys at the center.

You pull up to the driveway of the old family home and park the car. It’s dark, but the city street lamps shed enough light for you to tell that it’s clearly neglected. You don’t know why you’re here. But you get the feeling you should check the glove compartment before going inside. You can’t stand to be near here.

Inside the glove compartment is a key and a handwritten note from…you can’t recognize the handwriting. The note doesn’t even makes sense. It reads: “GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GE”. You force the warped car door open and fall out.

The house is abandoned. There’s a small patch of wild grass serving as a yard, and wood creaks in the wind. All happy memories have been drained from this place. There is no love here. 

You crawl through the debris around to the back of the house. Weeds climb up the walls. It’s not a nice place to be. You clutch the note and look around. There is a single generator sitting in the grass. It doesn’t have a lot of fuel, but it starts up well enough. You go back to the front of the house.

Once back in front, you creep up towards the door. It’s locked. You take the key and twist the lock’s insides. The click hurts to hear.

The inside of the house is pitch-black, but you’re punished more by the stench. The note feels strange in your hand. Reluctantly, scared of what you might find, you reach over and flip on the light switch. The overhead lights flicker on and off, and the walls are falling apart after years of neglect. Stains and trails cover the carpet, the smell unbearable. There is a kitchen and living room adjacent, along with a hallway leading deeper into the house. Now that the light is on, you try to read the note. But the words are now unrecognizable scribbles, like someone had a seizure while trying to write.

You walk down the hall, shoes squishing deep into the carpet. At the end is the bathroom, the kids’ room, and your room. You turn towards the kids’ room, but the door is boarded up. You can’t bear this. The door to your room is locked with a four-digit combo lock, so you turn around and go search for the code.

You enter the kitchen next. It reeks, and is completely unfamiliar. The counters are rusted metal, and there’s a corpse on the table. Something is written on the walls. The door to the wine cellar is shut, and someone painted a big red smiley face on it, with the label “to happiness.” You look down at the note and read it again. “011I01T000S01A100L101L0Y11O0110U11R00F0A11U000L0T”

You look at the walls. **10/10** is smeared in blood across them. You look at the corpse, but you can’t tell who is is, or who it was.

Feeling sick, you leave the kitchen and walk back down the hallway, arriving once more at the door to your room. You grab the lock. It’s rusty, not been used in years. The key in your hand weighs heavy. The note weighs heavier. You input the code 1010. The door creaks open. You read the note again. It’s bleeding.

The room is utterly familiar. The walls are damp, but you’ve been here before. The queen size bed has one half neatly made, the other a mess with a scent that stings your nose. A lone person sits at a desk, in front of a computer screen. The lamp is on, and he wears a cap firmly on his head. You shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be here.

You read the note again. “I’m sorry Stacy. I’m sorry kids, I’m sorry Jack. You haunt every step I take, even after all this time. It was out of my hands, but still he uses you against me. I can be with you now.”

There’s one thing left to do. You’re drowning and consumed. The gun is in your hand. You can end it now, if you so choose. But you don’t.

You are pathetic. It was all your fault. Say it.

_It was all my fault…_

I don’t believe you. Say it like you mean it. Now.

_It was all my fault._

“IT WAS ALL MY FAULT.” SAY IT.

_It was **all my fault!**_

F͝i̷̸ņ̵al̢̛͏l̡̕͢y.


	6. He's Listening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of various short ficlets that were written in May 2019 to celebrate the one year anniversary of Ego Mayhem 2018. Spamming a variety of different environments and scenarios, all with one or more of the boys at the center.

The room was maddeningly small, walls and floor made of metal. There were devices and instruments for measuring waves and electricity. He’d given up fiddling with them; you needed a passcode to use them and they’d deactivated his. And now he was sitting in the only chair, waiting.

Waiting for what? Hard to say.

They hadn’t said anything. Didn’t even care when he’d protested, demanded to speak to whoever was in charge. They simply explained they were from a different department and that he had qualities they were looking for. “It will all go quicker if you cooperate.” He did. Eventually.

It took him a while to notice the low tone in the room. A constant, steady whine. Coming from one of the devices he couldn’t operate, one that was bolted to the ground. He ignored it, but then it began rising in pitch. Steadily. Impossibly high. He gritted his teeth and tried to bear it.

Rising higher.

And higher.

Drilling into his mind.

And then another came, the frequency just off enough to make bones grate. Just loud enough to hear it no matter how hard he tried to muffle the sound. “What are you doing?!” He shouted. He was sure the others could hear him, he was sure this was part of whatever experiment they needed him for. “Make it stop! Please! Make it stop!”

In retaliation, the sounds only rose improbably, like a Shepard Tone. Another, lower one joined the fray. The lights in the room had gone out. But there were still lights. Floating, flashing with images and colors, that he could see even when he closed his eyes. He’d fallen out of the chair and was writhing on the floor, giving up on words and just whimpering. It felt like his skin was crawling, something underneath trying to ģet ̧ou̴t.

A crackle in the air came to life. “I’m sorry, doctor. But we needed to find the anomaly. If it’s always listening, we thought we could draw it out using careful sound experimentation.”

He closed his eyes.

“It appears our hypothesis was correct.”

He opened them again. Black.


	7. Gone Silent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of various short ficlets that were written in May 2019 to celebrate the one year anniversary of Ego Mayhem 2018. Spamming a variety of different environments and scenarios, all with one or more of the boys at the center.

There was a storm outside. Clumps of snow were falling steadily from the sky. Everything was white. Even the cabin’s window was frosted over. The cold lurked around the edges of the single room, shying away from the fireplace and its orange-yellow heat. The man had dragged the chair over next to it, and was currently sitting there, huddled beneath the blanket he’d stolen from the bed. He was staring at a phone on the table in front of him, vibrating with every new message.

The others were still texting him. He had to admire their dedication, after nearly two months of silence. But he wasn’t going to respond. If he even looked at the messages instead of deleting them right away, he just knew he would give in and tell them where he was. And he couldn’t do that. 

The lock on the cabin door rattled. He paid it no mind.

A whistling came from the kettle on the small stove in the corner. He sighed and stood up, keeping the blanket wrapped around his shoulders as he walked over, grabbed the kettle, and poured the hot water into two mugs, each with a teabag inside. Not for the first time, he wished he could get proper tea leaves out here, but no such luck.

The oil lantern above flickered and died. He didn’t look up.

He placed the mugs on the table. It would take another three or four minutes for the tea to steep. Still deliberately ignoring the buzzing phone, he pulled the only other chair in the room over to the fireplace, so it was facing across the table from his. He played with the arrangements of items on the table, making sure everything was in order. He sat back down in the chair and wrapped the blanket around himself once again.

Now he just had to wait. He took out his watch and glanced at the time before tucking it back in his vest. The wind outside was howling. The walls of the cabin were creaking. Outside there was a repetitive sound of snow crunching. He stared at the mugs.

The cabin door opened.

Not with any force. It was a gentle creak, the cold slowly creeping into the pocket of warmth. The howl of the wind seemed distant now. He didn’t turn around to look. Just checked his watch again before removing the teabags from the now steeped tea. He pulled one of the mugs towards him and held it in both hands.

The floorboards creaked repetitively, coming closer. Still, he did not look up, instead choosing to stare into the mug. The creaking stopped mere inches from him. He felt a chill as the ghost of fingers carded through his hair. Then the creaks resumed, ending up at the other chair across from him.

Silence.

He looked up.


	8. Connected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of various short ficlets that were written in May 2019 to celebrate the one year anniversary of Ego Mayhem 2018. Spamming a variety of different environments and scenarios, all with one or more of the boys at the center.

He couldn’t move.

Not for lack of trying. At first, he’d spent hours—there was no way to say how many, there was no indication of time passing—struggling against the bonds holding him to the chair. But the cords might as well have been solid metal for how much they gave. And then the screens switched on. Computer screens, wherever he looked there was one, their pixels nothing but static that broke and glitched.

The air was slowly filled up with white noise. It didn’t bother him at first, just served as a calling card for who, exactly, brought him here. But the longer it went on, the more grating the sound became, rough edges scraping against his mind. Then it became painful, slicing. Blood was trickling from his ears, nose, and eyes as he screamed for it to stop, but even that couldn’t drown out the ever-present drone.

And eventually, it began worming its way inside. He could feel it tingling along his spinal column, could taste it on the back of his throat. The more that was inside, the more energy it took to try to struggle, until the effort was absolutely exhausting, and he was tempted to just fall asleep and let the static carry him away.

But he couldn’t do that! He had things to do—people to save, friends to protect. So still, he tried to gather any sort of little twitch from his body, to no avail. He was just limp.

Something moved. He saw it out of the corner of his vision, and though he tried to look at it he couldn’t turn his head. He could tell it was close to the floor, wiggling toward him. But in the dark, where the only light came from the screens, he couldn’t quite make it out.

Until the something touched his foot. His instincts were to jerk away, but unfortunately his limbs were not responding to him. The something wrapped around his ankle and began slithering up his leg and onto the arms of the chair. It was a USB cable. A thick black one with a bit of green tape wrapped near the end. It crawled up his arm, and though he was practically screaming to move, to _get it off,_ he didn’t even flinch.

The cable crawled over his shoulder and into his hood, snaking around the back of his neck. It stopped. And for a moment he wondered if this was just a test of some twisted sort.

And then something bit into his neck. That finally got a reaction, as his whole body jerked. It didn’t stop. The thing was piercing, pushing deeper, and it more than hurt it felt _wrong._ He screamed again, now shaking and seizing as much as the bonds would let him. This was an invasion, an infection, he could feel it pouring into his system—

Until suddenly, there was nothing. He slumped back, and the cable retracted, the end of its USB now covered in blood. He blinked. And overlayed on his vision was green, glowing binary. He knew what it said.

“ And ͡we͝ a͞re...̡conn͏ect̴e̛d͡.” 


	9. Try to Fall Asleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of various short ficlets that were written in May 2019 to celebrate the one year anniversary of Ego Mayhem 2018. Spamming a variety of different environments and scenarios, all with one or more of the boys at the center.

The hotel room was completely dark, and soundless as well; he’d done his best to get rid of all distractions. There were some people who couldn’t sleep without a light or a noise machine, but he wasn’t one of them. He needed no distractions at all.

Yet, despite all external bothers being eliminated, he still couldn’t fall asleep. He’d played with the thermostat in the room, trying both warm and cool temperatures. He’d tried all variety of sleeping positions and blanket amount. He’d even gone so far as to deliberately tire himself out by purposefully burning his magic to exhaustion. But no matter what he did, sleep just wouldn’t come.

At this point he’d resorted to sitting in the bed and looking up ways to fall asleep on his phone. So far he was only finding ones he’d tried before. They’d all failed. He glanced at the clock on the nightstand. 3:51 a.m. Sure, he was naturally a night owl, but right now he was just so _tired._ He wanted so badly to sleep, but his mind just wouldn’t shut off.

With a frustrated cry, he threw his phone across the room, hearing it clatter off the opposite wall and onto the desk. Probably cracked the screen again, but he didn’t care. He flung himself backwards and landed on the bed, head hitting the pillow with a soft _thwump._ He closed his eyes. It was so soft, it would be so easy to just sink into the mattress and drift away. But still, he felt connected to wakefulness. Tears were leaking from his eyes. “Please, just let me sleep,” he whispered.

The previous silence of the room was broken by a slight crackle. One that almost sounded like laughter. He heard a voice in his mind. “I tho͏ug̵ht y̢o̵u͠ didn’t want to hav̧e̕ any ̛m͠ore ͝night̛mare͏s.”

“But I didn’t want to not fucking sleep!” He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyelids.

“Bȩ more sp̡ec͟ific ̕next tim̨e,͡ then̵,” the voice said, amused. “Oh,̷ wel̸l. Thi̧r̕d night's̛ the char̕m. ̨Good l̢uck.” And it faded away.

He screamed, turning over and burying his face in the pillow. He should’ve known the deal was too good to be true. How long would it be before he made him make another?


	10. The End is Near

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of various short ficlets that were written in May 2019 to celebrate the one year anniversary of Ego Mayhem 2018. Spamming a variety of different environments and scenarios, all with one or more of the boys at the center.

“Please, you have to listen to me!” His fists were sore from banging on the iron dungeon door. “We’re all in danger!”

The guards had apparently grown tired of his yelling. The window on the door slid open, leaving him staring into a pair of eyes. “You should shut yer whinin’,” a voice said. “Ya don’ want to lose yer voice on the first day.”

“No no no, listen, please.” He leaned against the door, palms flat against the cool surface. “The entire kingdom is in peril. Just—just let me talk to someone. I can explain everything.”

A laugh. “I think the only threat to us comes from you. The king is still laid up because of ya.”

“Look, I know it may seem that I’m the bad guy here, but I was just trying to protect everyone! I just need to speak to some of the higher-ups—but not the king!”

“Nah. You can talk to someone when yer trial runs around. Until then, good luck tryin’ to get anyone to listen to ya.” The window slammed shut.

“No! Wait! _Wait!_ ” He slammed against the door a couple more times. But it was no use. He could already hear the guard walking away. He sighed, and let his forehead hit the door. How could he convince them of his good intentions?

Behind him, he heard a scuffling sound. The shift of someone stepping quietly on the dirt floor. He spun around, pressed close to the door. The dungeon room was dark, but in the corner there was a patch of deeper shadow, midnight black. The longer he stared at it, the longer he could make out the shape. Almost human, but too thin, too unnatural.

“You,” he whispered. “What are you doing? Don’t you have a kingdom to run?”

“My ͠pu̵ppet can function without me for͏ a few ͏moments,” a voice hissed. “But you…you’re causing ̴trơub͢le, aren’t you?”

“And why wouldn’t I be?” He asked. “But that doesn’t answer why you’re here. I know you can’t do any damage yourself. Come to try and talk me out of it?”

A laugh, laced with the snap of dark magic. “What m͏ade you think ̡tha͡t?” The shadow disappeared.

Fighting down a jolt of panic, his eyes darted around the room. The hairs on the back of his neck suddenly stood up, and suddenly he was being thrown on the floor. He coughed on the dust and rolled over, trying to stand up. Only for the shadow to reform, pushing him back down. The back of his head slammed against the floor.

A green smile appeared above him. “Are you familiar with the saying, don’t wag your tongue unless you want t̸o lo̶s͠e i͏t?”

A hand of shadows wrapped around his neck. He clawed at it, but his fingers went right through. A cold burning started up in his throat. He choked, trying to call for help…

But no sound came out.


	11. Tie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of various short ficlets that were written in May 2019 to celebrate the one year anniversary of Ego Mayhem 2018. Spamming a variety of different environments and scenarios, all with one or more of the boys at the center.

Day in and day out, doing the same thing. Get up, get dressed in the suit and tie that was his uniform for this stupid job, take the train to this stupid job, and then do this stupid job, which consisted of sitting at the same desk and filling out paperwork he barely understood for eight hours. He wasn’t even getting paid that much. Then he took the train home, turned on the TV, and zoned out until it was time to go to bed. Occasionally he had energy to eat something. Not make something, just eat something.

And then there was the weekends. Those were the times when color ran back into the gray world, when he didn’t feel empty or hurt, but instead really, truly happy. But they didn’t last. And the more that passed, the shorter they seemed.

Until one day. Another gray day. He woke up with his alarm, immediately pressing the snooze button, but not getting out of bed. Just staring at the green outline of the digital numbers on his clock. Watching them slowly increase. He knew if he didn’t get up soon, he would be late. He knew he was on thin ice, that his work was falling in quality and he already had three warnings. But he just. Couldn’t care. The sense of urgency wouldn’t come. There wasn’t a spark of energy inside him.

What if he just…stopped going? They’d fire him, obviously. He wouldn’t be able to make money to buy food or clothes or pay rent on the house. He kept telling himself this, but the thoughts didn’t register. He was throwing stones in a pool, but instead of splashing, they were sinking beneath the surface without a sound.

He glanced over at where the suit was hanging in the closet. He could see the tie even from here, in the early morning light. And as he stared at it, he felt his energy draining.

The alarm went off again. He slammed down on the snooze button, then pulled it onto the bed and fiddled with its buttons until the alarm turned off entirely. Then he stuck his arm out further, grabbing blindly until his fingers wrapped around a half-empty bottle. He let the lukewarm contents spill down his throat, burning as they went.

Did it really matter? Every day would be the same anyway. Who cared about what he did with his time? He just…wanted to live in a world of color again.


	12. Winning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of various short ficlets that were written in May 2019 to celebrate the one year anniversary of Ego Mayhem 2018. Spamming a variety of different environments and scenarios, all with one or more of the boys at the center.

“You’re cheating!” Jackie threw the cards down on the table. “There is no way you’re winning them all. Are you taking extra cards when I’m not looking? Huh?”

“I thought the aim of the game was to git rid of the cards. Why would I want more?” Schneep’s voice was innocent but he had a devious smirk on his face.

“Then you’re switching them out or something!” Jackie stood up, pushing the kitchen chair backwards with a kick. “There is no way you could win that many in a row.”

“What can I say?” Schneep leaned back in his seat. “I am very skilled.”

“Oh please. This game is random luck-based, and I refuse to believe you have enough luck to win four in a row!” Jackie folded his arms with a huff.

“Oh come now, do not be like that!” Schneep brushed the cards on the table into one pile. “Try again! Maybe you will finally steal my luck.”

“You know perfectly well that if I was on a winning streak, you’d be throwing your cup out the window right now.” Jackie sighed. “But okay. Fine. One more round. Gimme the deck, I’ll deal the cards.”

After a moment of shuffling, Jackie dealt seven cards to each of them. He started the new round by placing a green four in the center of the table. Schneep looked at his cards, grinned, then put another on top of Jackie’s and said, “Draw four. Also, the color is now red.”

“Oh come on!” Jackie grumbled as he took new cards from the deck. Underneath his seat, he kicked the discarded cards he’d dropped out of the way. Schneep needed a few wins in his life.


	13. Alcohol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of various short ficlets that were written in May 2019 to celebrate the one year anniversary of Ego Mayhem 2018. Spamming a variety of different environments and scenarios, all with one or more of the boys at the center.

It started small. One night, he read that alcohol was a suppressor, that it was supposed to drown out the outside world, even your own senses. So, he took every ounce of it he could find in the house and downed it all.

It worked, at least. Making thoughts of his own became difficult, let alone trying to listen to everything else. He went to work with a pounding headache, though. Not good in this career. So he promised himself he’d never do that again.

Unfortunately, he had to let himself down. After another week of dealing with this shit, he had to try again. Spent too much money on wine and ended up drinking until he passed out on the couch. Woke up disappointed. There had to be a better way around this.

He tried to stop after the fourth time. Really did, threw all the bottles in the trash and pinched himself every time he started thinking about buying more. And then, one night, one upscale venue with an after party that had a free bar. He had to stay, it wouldn’t be polite to leave. But it also wasn’t polite when he ended up getting wasted and passing out in the venue’s bathroom after a few sessions of vomiting. It wasn’t pretty, but neither was the alternative.

He started getting a bit of a…reputation. People stopped inviting him to receptions that he’d just black out at and ruin. They stopped making plans for him to come to shows where alcohol would be served. And once the socially acceptable excuse wore out, he gave in, practically buying every out every liquor store in town, taking home his bounty and waking up the next day surrounded by empty bottles. People were starting to avoid him. The press loved him, though. Nothing better than a crazy wild celebrity.

They didn’t understand. None of them did. There was no other way, not unless he wanted to do even more harm to himself than he already was. He couldn’t stand it when the voices started up at night. They’d whisper, words he almost recognized…“ _Quave sci'umt cupoedil. Ignesa urér i frajo suzeb steylasi. Com minruit hóstipos vas-tris_.”

Every night he’d fall asleep once they were gone, and when he woke up his vision would have sparks of green and purple dancing on the edges.


	14. Dark Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of various short ficlets that were written in May 2019 to celebrate the one year anniversary of Ego Mayhem 2018. Spamming a variety of different environments and scenarios, all with one or more of the boys at the center.

That’s what it was in the beginning.

Nothing but darkness. Quiet darkness. A darkness deeper than having his eyes shut, blacker than the far reaches of space. And no sound. Not even his voice could be heard. Sometimes not even his own thoughts.

The change, when it happened, wasn’t much. Just a small dot of gray light, the slightest whisper. But it had been so dark, and so silent, for so long, that even that hurt. To say nothing of when the multitudes of whispers compounded, or when the small gray light grew into an all-encompassing red light. He screamed endlessly.

And then he forgot.

Forgot not only about the place of darkness, of silence, but of everything. He was…in a place. Where he tried to survive, not realizing that this place wasn’t his home. And then he was…in another. A different one. He didn’t remember the last. All he knew were the rules: try to survive, try to live. And then, he was in another place, with no memory of the last. The nightmarish cycle repeated. But he didn’t know that.

Until he did. Until he was in another place, a remote snowy outpost, under attack by things you shouldn’t understand. And it was faint, but…there was a voice. One he couldn’t quite make out. Until he halted what he was doing, until he put every ounce of concentration into listening.

_Jack. Jack! This is Chase. You need to wake up._

And a question crossed his mind that never had before.

.- - ……-…- - - .. ?

And he realized. He recalled. He remembered what he did to him.

The next nightmare came, and his memories were not swallowed by the dark silence that came in between.


	15. Abandoned and Exiled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of various short ficlets that were written in May 2019 to celebrate the one year anniversary of Ego Mayhem 2018. Spamming a variety of different environments and scenarios, all with one or more of the boys at the center.

He hadn’t been expecting to wake up in a hospital bed. In fact, he hadn’t been expecting to wake up at all, because he couldn’t even remember falling asleep. The last thing he could recall, he was at work, filling out some forms in his office. But now he was opening his eyes to an unfamiliar hospital room, one that looked too run-down to be functional.

The lights in the ceiling were flickering. He had a pounding headache, and the flashing was not helping at all. He squeezed his eyes shut and instinctively tried to reach up and press his hands against the aching spots to try and relieve the pain. But when he tried to move one hand, the other came with it. He reopened his eyes to see his wrists were bound together in front of him. And after a few moments of tugging and twisting, he concluded that he wouldn’t be able to get the zip ties off without scissors or the like.

Somehow, he managed to sit up, and then push himself off the bed. He didn’t recognize anything. The floor was covered in dust, and there were spots in the walls where the electrical wiring could be seen. The room had no windows, and the door was shut. And there was something that didn’t belong there. The wheeled metal table sitting in the center of the room was clean and new-looking, and he could see trails in the dust where it had been pushed into the room, along with some footprints.

After a moment’s hesitation, he walked over and looked at the table. There was nothing on it, except a single piece of paper. And on the paper, in turn, was writing, scratched and scribbled words. It took him a moment to decipher them… “ _Some friends they turned out to be, didn’t they, mein lieber Artz?_ ”

He recognized that phrase. After reading it, he could almost feel his heart stop. But there were more words. “ _You’d think they wouldn’t make trades._ ”

They—they wouldn’t. They couldn’t have. He spun around. Maybe this was just a nightmare. But even in his most vivid dreams, things were not as crystal clear as they were now. He felt sick. He—he thought—they weren’t—there had to be another explanation, this had to be a trick!

He ran to the door. There had to be some way to get it open, maybe by toying with the handle—but then he saw it had no handle or knob at all.

A slight breeze whistled through the room. He spun around, the goosebumps on his neck caused by more than just the chill wind. The paper on the table had flipped over, and there were more words on the other side, written in what had to be red ink, bright enough to see from where he was now standing. His eyes whirled about his surroundings, but saw nothing, so he slowly, hesitantly, crept back towards it.

The new writing was just two words: “ _Willkommen zurück =)_ ”

The lights went out.


	16. A Way Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of various short ficlets that were written in May 2019 to celebrate the one year anniversary of Ego Mayhem 2018. Spamming a variety of different environments and scenarios, all with one or more of the boys at the center.

“This doesn’t make sense. Any of it.” He paced the floor of the tiny cell, his cape billowing behind him. “I don’t think anyone has a grudge against either of us.” He paused, turning to look at his companion. “You don’t…think it’s him, do you?”

The other one was sitting on one of the cots in the corner. He considered these words, then shook his head.

“Yeah, you’re right.” He resumed his pacing. “He’s not exactly shy about taking credit for his schemes, is he?” Silence fell as the two of them considered the room around them. Both of them had woken up in a literal prison cell. One of the walls was just bars, and they could see identical cells marching along in rows. This place looked like it hadn’t been used in years.

“There has to be a way out of here.” He shook the bars of the cell. Just like when he’d tried before, they didn’t even rattle. “How long have we been in here?”

The other one checked his watched, then held up three fingers.

“Three hours, huh? God.” He took a step back. As far as he could tell, there wasn’t anyone in sight, nor any sign of anyone coming soon. They’d been awake in here for three hours, asleep in here for some time before that, and he was starting to get hungry. The bars of the cell didn’t look too thick. “I think I have an idea.” He wrapped his hands around the bars and closed his eyes. Tiny green flames began sparking into existence, gradually building up into fire.

Something tapped him on the shoulder, breaking his concentration. He opened his eyes, and looked over his shoulder to see the other one staring at him with wide eyes. He made a few gestures. The message was clear: _That will take a lot of energy._

“Relax, I can do it,” he smiled.

The other one tilted his head. _Are you sure? Do you have enough energy?_

“I can do it,” he replied. That seemed to satisfy his companion, who relaxed the tiniest bit and backed away. “Thanks. Now, don’t interrupt me, I have to focus.” He closed his eyes again.

This wasn’t normal fire. It could melt items without having to reach a thousand degrees, which would surely hurt anyone in the vicinity. But it had a cost for this efficiency. And he wasn’t sure he could pay it. But he had to try. They couldn’t be stuck here.

The heat was burning, scorching, not just from the flames but also from inside him. He was overheating. Even though his eyes were closed, he could see the green smoke and flames dancing in his eyes, consuming the darkness. He fell to his knees, but he kept going. Something tried to pull him away, frantically, repeatedly, but he put all his strength into staying there and keeping the fire alive.

And then he fell forward, landing on cool concrete. His eyelids fluttered, and he could barely make out the other side of the bars. He’d done it. Someone was shaking him, but he couldn’t respond. He was just so…tired.

The last thing he was conscious of was his companion pulling him into his arms. And his last thought was that at least one of them made it out.


	17. Father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of various short ficlets that were written in May 2019 to celebrate the one year anniversary of Ego Mayhem 2018. Spamming a variety of different environments and scenarios, all with one or more of the boys at the center.

“Okay, let’s try again.” Chase picked up the pencil one more time. “I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it eventually.”

Trevor groaned, and put his head down on the kitchen tale. “No I’m noooot. Can’t you just tell me the answers?”

“Trev, if I told you, then you’d never learn,” Chase said sternly. “You can’t keep coming to me or Mom or Bobby for the answers. What if we aren’t there?”

“I can’t do it,” Trevor said, his words muffled. “I’m stupid.”

“No, you totally aren’t.” Chase ruffled Trevor’s hair. “You’re just not good at books.” He paused for a moment. “Hey, you know what? I have an idea.” He pushed back the chair and walked over to the cabinets. Trevor looked up and watched him pull out a box of cereal, then take it back over to the kitchen table. Chase dumped a fair amount of cereal onto the table surface.

“Dad, you’re making a mess,” Trevor pointed out.

“Well, I’ll clean it up later.” He sat back down. “Okay. Let’s do this. Here, we have five little marshmallows, right?”

“Uh-huh.” Trevor poked each one of the marshmallows, counting silently.

“And now we have four cereal bits. Let’s put them with the marshmallows.” Chase slid said cereal bits over. “How many are in this pile here?”

Trevor’s face scrunched as he counted. “Nine.”

“Okay, so if we take five marshmallows and put them with four cereal bits, that’s nine?”

“Yea.”

“So that’s the answer to the first problem!” Chase smiled.

Trevor’s eyes widened. He picked up the pencil and drew a tiny nine in the box provided for the answer. “How do we do the rest, then?”

“Well, just imagine that the first number is marshmallows.” Chase leaned over and tapped the first number of the next problem. “And the second number is cereal. You can picture those in your head right?” Trevor nodded, and Chase continued. “So, whenever you have to add the numbers, imagine pushing the marshmallows and the cereal together.”

Trevor closed his eyes, pencil tapping on the counter as he imagined. “So…the next one would be seven?”

“You got it!” Chase beamed. “C’mon, let’s finish these up. I’ll help you if you get stuck again.”


	18. Childhood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of various short ficlets that were written in May 2019 to celebrate the one year anniversary of Ego Mayhem 2018. Spamming a variety of different environments and scenarios, all with one or more of the boys at the center.

“Mom?” He stood on his tiptoes, peering over the kitchen counter to where his mother was standing, mixing batter for cookies.

“Hey sweetie.” She gave him a tired smile. “I thought you didn’t want to help.”

“I wanna ask you something.” He reached up and put a pair of safety scissors on the counter. “Can you cut my hair?”

Mom looked shocked at the question. “Really? We just got it cut.”

“Yeah, but I want it shorter. Like Dad’s.”

“Well…alright, if that’s what you want. You want me to cut it now?”

He nodded, giving her a wide-eyed puppy dog look. She sighed, leaving the spoon in the mixing bowl and walking around the counter. “Alright. Let’s go to the bathroom. We should use the scissors in there instead of those ones.”

It was only a few minutes later when he climbed up onto the stool in the bathroom and stared at his reflection in the mirror. He grinned and shook his head, causing his new short hair to whirl around. It was so light!

“There we are.” Mom put down the scissors she’d used. “It’s a lot shorter now. Are you happy with that?”

“Uh-huh. If I change my mind, it can grow back.” He bounced up and down. “Maybe when I’m a grown-up.” He pauses. “Mom? Can I ask you something else?”

“What is it, sweetie?”

“Can I have a new name?”

“Wha…I guess, once you’re older, you can change it. But you want a new one now? You don’t like Ju—”

“No!” He shook his head firmly. “I want something different.”

Mom pursed her lips. “Well, what, then? We already put your initials on all your school supplies.”

“I dunno,” he shrugged. “I can keep the J, I like it. But I want a new name.”

“Well, alright. When you think of one, you can tell me and Dad, okay?” Mom leaned forward and gave him a tiny kiss on the forehead.

“Hey Mom,” he said. “I changed my mind, I want to help with the cookies.”

Mom smiled. “Alright, sweetie. I could use the help. Come on.”


	19. Journal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of various short ficlets that were written in May 2019 to celebrate the one year anniversary of Ego Mayhem 2018. Spamming a variety of different environments and scenarios, all with one or more of the boys at the center.

25/9/26

I had the most peculiar dream last night. I was standing in the bathroom, staring at my reflection in the mirror. Except the longer I looked, the less it looked like me. Its eyes turned completely black, and it smiled at me and made a gesture like it was slitting its throat. When I woke up this morning, I was oddly hot for this time of year. I do hope I’m not getting a fever, Mr. Merrick would be most upset if I delayed filming any more. He’s already upset whenever I oversleep.

1/10/26

While on set today, my nose started bleeding. It was most odd, since it’s not an affliction I’m often subject to. Ruined my favorite handkerchief, but that’s the least of my worries. I arrived home and could have sworn I heard footsteps on the second floor, coming from that room. I feared it was a burglar, but there was nobody there once I checked. Nothing had been taken, either. It might have been my imagination, but I wonder…

10/10/26

It’s been some time since my last entry, but I am afraid that something is wrong. I didn’t realize the date until I looked at the calendar. The last week or so has all been sort of hazy. I keep swearing I hear words or laughter, but when I ask others, nobody else can hear them. ~~I believe something went wrong when I~~ I believe something is here now. I am trying to find a way to drive it out, and though there are some talismans I’ve found and put up, they are not doing much to prevent this. I will try to find stronger ones.

18/10/26

They are not working. And worse, everything seems to be...progressing. The nosebleeds are coming in increasing frequency, and when I woke up this morning there was blood coming from my eyes as well. In addition, Cherry often confronts me about conversations I do not remember having with her. I’m having gaps in my memory, wherein I arrive somewhere but do not remember getting there. I must try to find additional help, though I do not know who I could possibly tell who would not think I’m going mad. ~~I might be.~~

22/10/26

I woke up this morning with a destroyed talisman in hand. I do not remember going to sleep. Considered avoiding the shoot today, but I must try hard to appear normal. I cannot have others dragged into this. Cherry is getting increasingly worried about me, though I do my best to play it off as stress. The blood and blackouts, however, I cannot explain, and she is asking me to see a doctor. I told her I would see one, though I will not. If they ask, I will not be able to explain the ~~harmful~~ strange thoughts I am having. ~~I can see him in the corner of my eyes~~

30/10/26

I must continue on. It’s getting worse, but I must. Today I blacked out and when I came to I was in the kitchen holding a knife. More bleeding. The voice hardly ever goes away now and there are so many things that are not there. But I can’t worry others, they wouldn’t understand. I’m going to try a normal filming session tomorrow. If I can only get through that perhaps I can then leave to find a solution. There must be a solution

31/10/26

_~~he’s here he’s here he’s here he’s here he’s~~ _

_~~HHHHhEeLlllL /“./\\_–//\~~~ _


	20. Infected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of various short ficlets that were written in May 2019 to celebrate the one year anniversary of Ego Mayhem 2018. Spamming a variety of different environments and scenarios, all with one or more of the boys at the center.

The evacuation siren is blaring. The lights are switched to their emergency red mode. And he is curled up on the floor, shaking and breathing heavily.

He’d been alone in the observation room when the subject broke free of quarantine. He hadn’t been looking at the window, but when the supposedly unbreakable glass shattered, that definitely caught his attention. He spun around. The subject climbed through the window—fast, impossibly fast—and launched towards him. He threw himself backwards with a shriek, landing on the floor, his back against the control panel. The subject, in turn, landed on top of him.

It had been smiling. That was one of the symptoms, an impossible smile that never went away. It was thin, bony even, but it grabbed his wrist with a steel grip and pinned it against the panel, its other hand wrapping around his neck until he could feel its nails digging into his skin. He was choking, gasping for air, but his other arm was still free. He had to do something. Alert the others. Its eyes, with those strange black scleras, stared at his, not paying attention while his arm drifted upwards onto the panel. He had to find it. He had to let the others know.

Many things happened rapidly. The subject grinned and jerked forward and _bit_ him, right in the shoulder, unusually sharp teeth digging easily into flesh. He screamed, and at that point his hand found the button, slamming down on it. The evacuation siren started blaring, initializing quarantine around the observation room. Metal shields began sliding down over the freshly-broken window, as well as the doorway to the room. The subject ripped its teeth free, whipped its head over to the slowly closing entrance, and lunged towards it, barely scrambling through as the quarantine shields fully slid down.

And now he is lying on the floor, listening to the never-ending siren. It has to end soon. They have to recapture the subject soon. But he’s afraid it’ll be too late, at least for him. He’d studied the symptoms. Stage one: loss of energy, migraines, blurry vision, nausea. And while stuck in the quarantined room, he’d lost the energy to keep standing, found his head was pounding like someone was hammering a blade into his skull, had his vision swim even while he’d had his glasses on, and felt so sick that he wouldn’t be able to stand even if he had the energy.

Now, the front of his coat is soaked with blood he’d coughed up. His vision is just shades of light, no objects, tinted red along the edges. He shivers with cold one second and heat the next. And he’s too weak to stand even if he tried. Just to drive home his worst fears, he slowly brings his hand close to his face, until he’s able to make it out as something other than a blur. And he sees his veins are green. He’s reached stage two.

Thinking is getting harder, thoughts moving slowly through a hot fog. He can’t concentrate on much besides how much it hurts, how much his whole body aches. Occasionally knives of pain will flash along his nerves, and he’ll cry out.

Even though he’s in agony, he doesn’t want the others to find him. It won’t be long before stage three. They’d had enough trouble dealing with one subject already. He doesn’t want to think how’d they’d handle another.


	21. Trash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of various short ficlets that were written in May 2019 to celebrate the one year anniversary of Ego Mayhem 2018. Spamming a variety of different environments and scenarios, all with one or more of the boys at the center.

“Sir, what are you doing in there?”

A head popped out from inside the dumpster. “O-oh. Sorry. I’ll get out of here pretty quick, I’m just looking for something.”

“Uh, sir.” The garbage man leaned over the top of the dumpster, staring at the man digging through the trash. “I have to take this out now.”

“It won’t take too long, I-I-I’m sure I’ll be able to find it.” His search increased in speed, throwing discarded napkins out of the way. “It was a silly mistake, honestly, so it shouldn’t take too long—”

The garbage man sighed. “You’re gonna have to hurry up if you really want to try and find…whatever it is. I’m on a schedule right now.”

“No-no-no, just give me some time,” he hurried to say. “I should be able to find it.” Never mind that it was terribly small. Never mind that he’d been in here for an hour already and found nothing. He had to find it. He had to.

His finger brushed against something. And he immediately attacked the spot he’d found, nails scratching against the grimy metal of the dumpster. But when he uncovered the object, it was just a round button. Something inside him cracked a bit as the hope he’d built up faded away.

“Sir, you really have to—”

“No, I need to find it!” He began throwing the trash around, covering his arms in the grime. “I can’t—I can’t have lost it! I can’t lose it!”

And in the midst of the gray, there was a glint of gold reflecting the sunlight coming from the half-closed lid. He lunged toward it, grabbing it and wiping away the bits of garbage.

He wrapped the ring in his hands and clutched it to his chest, blinking away the tears that came to his eyes. “Okay…” his voice cracked. “I’m…I’m done now.”


	22. Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of various short ficlets that were written in May 2019 to celebrate the one year anniversary of Ego Mayhem 2018. Spamming a variety of different environments and scenarios, all with one or more of the boys at the center.

Winter wasn’t ending. It was well into the spring months, and still the ground was cloaked in heavy white snow. Some days it was hard to push open the door, there was so much snow, and the windows were so frosted he couldn’t see outside.

He’d been stuck in the tower since the first storm struck, wandering the three stories aimlessly every day. Somebody was supposed to come to replace him months ago, but nobody had arrived. Presumably, even wizards couldn’t pierce the deep mountain storms. So while he was alone up here, he continued doing the job he’d been sent to do.

The Tower Fire was one of the kingdom’s defenses against the creatures that lived beyond its borders. Every wizard spent at least some of their magical careers dwelling in the tower, using their magic to keep the fire burning. But they weren’t supposed to spend so much time at once keeping it lit, or they could easily spend their energy.

He could feel the steady drain of keeping the fire going. There was an emptiness inside him, a pit where there once was a field of magic. His movements became slower over time, and he tired quickly, until he was forced to stop his wanderings and restrict himself to the top floor, where he could easily reach the Fire on the roof. He was running out. But he didn’t have much of a choice. Unless he wanted the kingdom to be invaded.

One night, he was one the roof, looking down on the valley of the kingdom as the sun set over the mountains. He’d dragged himself up here in the morning to check on the flames, and then when he sat down by the fire pit he couldn’t get up again.

The flames were green, matching the shade of his magic. Every so often sparks would fly off in myriad colors, the remnants of other wizards’ magic who kept the fire going. The fire pit was wide, big enough for a large bonfire, but the dancing flames in the center were barely the size of a campfire.

It was so cold. He’d brought up the quilt from the bed, as well as worn his warmest clothes, and still he shivered. He didn’t dare expend any of his magic on keeping himself warm, not when he had to give the sparks that remained inside him to the flickering fire.

The sun was beneath the horizon now, its light no longer there to defend against the chill that leeched heat from his bones. The mountain slopes were dark shapes. The only light came from the dimming flames. He found his head nodding. But he had to keep going…he couldn’t let it fade…

It seemed like there were noises coming from around him. The sound of something scratching at the tower stones. His eyelids flickered…probably nothing…he was probably imagining the sounds that were coming closer…closer…closer to where he was sitting high up…

The flames guttered for a second, and he snapped back to attention. They couldn’t go out…they just couldn’t. He had to…had to keep pushing his magic towards them. Never mind that he had to scrape around inside to find it, he had to…had to keep…his eyes drifted shut…

The scratching was right behind him, and he felt something pull itself onto the tower roof. But he was frozen in place, too tired, to cold, to even turn his head. The footsteps coming toward him rang some dim alarm bells, but he had to…had to concentrate on the fire…

An icy hand came down on his shoulder, and he shuddered. The cold was seeping from its fingers, numbing his flesh and bones. His heart was pounding ice through his veins. “You’ve done a good job,” said a voice, soft as a snowstorm. “Go to sleep.”

No…he had to…had…to…

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” the voice continued. “The fire’s failed its purpose. So rest now.”

With a sigh, he drifted into sleep, the last few wisps of his magic being given to the fire.

And a few seconds later, the fire died.


	23. Champion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of various short ficlets that were written in May 2019 to celebrate the one year anniversary of Ego Mayhem 2018. Spamming a variety of different environments and scenarios, all with one or more of the boys at the center.

“You can’t do that!”

“Now, sir, I know you’re a public figure, but that doesn’t mean you can just say whatever you want.”

He stared down at the reporter. “I _might_ agree with you, except for the fact that you people cut out just _two words._ When have two words ever caused any trouble? I mean, unless the first one is ‘kill’ or something like that, but there was literally no reason to do that!”

The reporter was unfazed. She gave him a sickly sweet smile. “Well sir, I’m sure you realize that the topic on which you are addressing in those two words can spark up some controversy. The people of this city wouldn’t appreciate knowing someone like you stuck his nose into controversial topics.”

“It really _shouldn’t_ be a controversy!” He made sure to lower his voice. The other people in the lobby were starting to stare at him. More than they already _were_ staring at the guy in the bright red jumpsuit, that is. “So I guess there’s nothing I can do to convince you to change your mind, huh?”

“The studio already released the edited footage,” the reporter said smoothly. “Everything else has been stored in our database.”

He backed away, doing his best to not look excited at this news. “Fine then. Guess you guys should know that in the future, I’m gonna run from all your film crews!” And with that, he dashed out of the building.

Later that night—much later that night—he grinned in triumph as the download finally completed. All the raw footage the news crew had filmed that afternoon. Giving the clock a quick glance and noting the time of nearly five o’clock, he decided to skip out on the editing and uploaded the entire thing to his public YouTube channel. He then sent out a link to the video on his public Twitter, and promptly collapsed on the bed.

The next morning must’ve been a slow day for news, because there was an…interesting story playing on the television. “It seems that overnight the city’s vigilante uploaded raw footage from Channel Four’s video taken yesterday. The unedited footage is notable for having a clip of the hero shouting ‘trans rights.’ Some figures have come out and denounced the vigilante, though others have proclaimed him a champion for the community…”

Jackie smiled. All in a night’s work.


	24. Clues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of various short ficlets that were written in May 2019 to celebrate the one year anniversary of Ego Mayhem 2018. Spamming a variety of different environments and scenarios, all with one or more of the boys at the center.

There has to be a connection. He’d been working on this for months—nearly a year now—and his notes are practically covering his whole living room. Yes, he’s resorted to doing the thing they do in movies and hanging up pieces of evidence on the walls. It actually helps more than he thought it would.

He glances over at the clock. Almost midnight. Normally he’d say “fuck it” and go to bed much later, but when he did that last night he’d ended up not going to bed at all, and he’s starting to feel the strain. He yawns, forcing his eyes open. One more time. He’d go over everything one more time.

It started October two years ago, nearly three now. With Jack. He’d slit his own throat, then claimed he hadn’t actually done it. They all insisted he go to therapy, but after he investigated it for a while, he found out Jack never did. Then next year, he’d slipped into a coma for unknown reasons and hadn’t come out yet.

Then there was the one who showed up shortly after that, Marvin. He’d always seemed a little…off. Eccentric, maybe, and given how many times one of the others had to bail him out of jail, a little bit prone to fights. But there was something beyond that. He’d always seemed to take Jack’s claims of other creatures more seriously than the others. When Jack had fallen asleep, he’d slowly distanced himself from the others, saying he was looking for a solution. But how could that be when they didn’t even know the cause?

There was one person who might know what happened. Schneep, one of Jack’s best friends and the doctor who’d been alone in the room with him when the coma came on. A bit quirky, but well-meaning and very good at his job. Which is why it made no sense why he would suddenly disappear. Or why he’d come back months later with no explanation at all. He’d tried so hard to get Schneep to open up about what happened, but he refused to say anything. The most he ever said was “He is always watching.”

And that phrase was actually shared by someone else. Jameson, who’d just suddenly appeared shortly after Schneep disappeared. He was a bit…old-fashioned. He also refused to say anything about his life before he met the others, claiming it was “rather unbelievable.” After Schneep returned, Jameson started acting even more odd, almost paranoid. Marvin went to confront him one night, and the next day they’d both vanished, leaving behind just a written note with the same “always watching” phrase.

He sits on the couch, head in his hands. He knows that there has to be something going on, something connecting all these pieces, but he’s not sure what. Schneep shuts down whenever he asks for help, and Chase is no good either, acting…strange. More than strange, actually. Chase was the reason he had to pack up and leave without telling anyone where he was going. He can still remember the absolute shock of their confrontation back in December. Chase had said some…unsettling things, and then—well, he didn’t know Chase even still had that gun.

There has to be something. He stares at the notes and pictures he’d pinned up on the wall, and thinks that there has to be something. It has to be connected.

And his eyes fall on a strange piece of paper he hadn’t given much thought to before. A note he’d found in Chase’s house that day, that looks like it was written by Chase himself, if he’d made the wildest strokes imaginable, aiming to tear up the page. Two simple words: “BRING HIM.”

And maybe it’s just because he’s tired, but the idea occurs to him that maybe—possibly—the reason he can’t find anything is because he’s focusing on things he knows. What if this thing is not of this world? What if it’s something else?

He dismisses the idea, deciding to go to bed. Except he doesn’t have the energy to go to the bedroom, and ends up just collapsing on the couch with a blanket, totally unaware of the eyes that are out there, searching for him and growing angrier with every day he isn’t found.


	25. Terror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of various short ficlets that were written in May 2019 to celebrate the one year anniversary of Ego Mayhem 2018. Spamming a variety of different environments and scenarios, all with one or more of the boys at the center.

He woke up in complete darkness. So black and dark that there was no difference when he closed his eyes. He was lying on a hard surface that definitely wasn’t his bed where he’d fallen asleep. Once he realized this he snapped to attention. What happened? Where was he? He tried to sit up.

 _Smak!_ His head hit something barely an inch above him, and he hissed in pain. Who would put something there? He tried to reach up and feel it, only for his hand to also hit the whatever-it-was. He moved his hand to the side, only to run into something else. After a moment of feeling around, he realized it joined up with the surface below him and the surface above him.

He could practically feel his heart stop. His fingers scrabbled around, looking for a gap, a weak spot, anything. He tried to kick or move his legs, only to find that impossible because of how low and _small_ the space is. “H-hello? I s anyone there?” he cried out. “Please?” There was no answer.

His heart was pounding out of his chest. Every attempt to wiggle away or stretch ended up in his hands and feet knocking into the sides of the box. He couldn’t—he couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe, the air was hot and thick from his hyperventilating and nothing was going through.

“Come on come on think think do something!” he whisper-yelled to himself. He squeezed his eyes shut, pushing back the hot tears that were threatening to spill over. After forcing himself to take deep breaths and focus, a weak green light flickered into existence by his head. It didn’t do much beside reveal that yes, indeed, this space was tiny, but it made him feel the tiniest bit better that he could do something.

“Is-is anyone out there? _Is anyone there?!_ Please!” He banged against the top of the box with his hands. “Somebody help! I-I’m trapped!” And again, there was no answer.

He whimpered, blinking back another wave of tears. Someone had to hear him, right? He couldn’t just be stuck here—he couldn’t _die_ here. Was the box sealed? How much air was inside? “Help!” he shouted. “Someone, anyone, please!”


	26. Actor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of various short ficlets that were written in May 2019 to celebrate the one year anniversary of Ego Mayhem 2018. Spamming a variety of different environments and scenarios, all with one or more of the boys at the center.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (This one goes along with the Journal ficlet, number nineteen, but it should work on its own, too.)

They were actors. And damn good ones too, if their work had anything to say about it. They made a living out of pretending. But it wasn’t something they made a habit out of doing with _each other._

She knew something was wrong with him. It was evident in the way he’d show up late for the shoots, the way he kept jumping and looking over his shoulder even when there wasn’t anything there to make him do that. And when she asked him what was wrong, he just smiled and said that he may be feeling a bit out of sorts, but it wasn’t anything to worry about.

Then things started getting worse. The nosebleeds were one thing, but then he started saying the most peculiar things. They shocked her at times; she hadn’t thought it was even physically possible for him to be so mean-spirited. And then whenever she confronted him, he didn’t remember any of it. She insisted that he go see a doctor about this, sure that there was some sort of problem that could be fixed that way. Whenever he agreed to try and find one, however, she could tell he was making empty promises. For an actor, he wasn’t very good at lying.

She’d thought the whole thing odd, but had let him do as he saw fit. It probably wasn’t too serious an issue, if he was still getting up and going about his day.

And then he disappeared on Halloween night.

It was never resolved as to what really happened. The police ruling ended up being suicide, but she stubbornly refused to accept it. Even if he had been acting strange the past two months, it didn’t mean he would want to do something like that. But still, with the police having given up on finding an explanation, it was unlikely she’d ever see him again. And that hurt. It ached, knowing her partner—her best friend—was gone forever. 

Ten years later, something strange happened.

She was walking down to the post office, ready to pick up a letter from overseas. And on the way there, she bumped into someone. Or rather, someone bumped into her, a man running out of an alleyway and straight into her as she walked by on the sidewalk. She’d been startled into dropping her purse, but the man didn’t stop to help her, just kept running by. She bent over and quickly picked up her purse again, whirling around, ready to give the stranger a piece of her mind.

Her retorts had died in her throat when she saw the man’s face. It had only been visible for a few seconds before he disappeared around the street corner, but that had been long enough.

He looked familiar. And he looked…scared.

She’d run after him, only to find that once she rounded the corner, he was nowhere in sight. She wasted five minutes searching the nearby area for him, but couldn’t find anything.

Later, she realized it couldn’t have been him. It couldn’t have been her friend. Even if he hadn’t died all those years ago, he’d be older. Like she was. Most likely it was just another, younger man who looked like he used to.

But as the years passed, she still carried with herself an eerie feeling, an instinct that something had happened to him that she couldn’t understand.


	27. Going Crazy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of various short ficlets that were written in May 2019 to celebrate the one year anniversary of Ego Mayhem 2018. Spamming a variety of different environments and scenarios, all with one or more of the boys at the center.

Day seven. An entire week, stuck in one room. He was starting to get really frustrated cooped up in here. But, unfortunately, he couldn’t do much about it.

Still, he had to at least try to do something. With a bitter sigh, he stood up from the bed where he’d been sitting, walked over to the door, and started banging on it. “Hello? Anyone out there willing to listen to me?”

No answer. To be honest, he wasn’t expecting one. He groaned and let his head fall forward until it hit the door. Who did these people think they were? Actually, it didn’t matter, whatever the circumstances were you shouldn’t lock somebody in a small room for a week. Unless you wanted to punish them for something, but even then, the “something” would have to be pretty damn bad.

_Wasn’t it?_

He instantly tensed upon hearing the words. They’d come from behind him, if he didn’t turn and look then maybe it would stop there.

_Don’t ignore me. Answer me. Why are you treating this like it’s unfair, when you know very well what you did?_

He gave in, turning around. The shadowy figure was back, standing in the corner of the room with a smile as wide as the cut across its throat. “Shut your mouth,” he growled.

 _Shut your mouth. Shut your mouth. Shut your mouth._ He clamped his hands over his ears at the echoing chorus of words. It did nothing. He could hear the rising peals of hysterical laughter bouncing around his skull. _Is that all you have? Go on, give me something worse. Or better yet, do something!_

“Leave me alone.” He slunk along the walls of the room, keeping his eyes on the shadow in the corner. Its green eyes followed him, the smile never leaving its face. He ended up in the corner opposite it. Far away, but in this room, it still wasn’t far enough.

 _You think I’ll ever leave you?_ The question was followed by screeching laughter as whispers began attacking him from all angles. What were they saying? What were they saying? A small cry escaped his throat. _You’re STUCK with me! Just like you’re stuck here! Because they’re not going to let you out. You know that, right? Because you’re a danger to everyone else._

“That was all your fault!” he shouted. The words were firm, but they were undermined by the way he slid to the floor. “It was not me, was never me, it was you!”

 _Oh was it?!_ The shadow was walking toward him. He scrabbled across the floor, pushing farther back into the corner. _WAS IT?! They don’t think so. Are they right? Are they right? Are they right?!_ It was inches away, leaning over him. He could feel the blood dripping from its neck onto his face. _Answer me! Are they right?!_

“Get away!” He lunged forward, barely managing to catch the shadow as it leaned backwards. It was laughing at him. It was laughing at him, he could hear it grating against his ears. “Stop it!” And it didn’t stop. It didn’t stop, not even when he threw it to the ground, not even when he wrapped his hands around his throat. Why wouldn’t it stop?! He had to make it stop! He tried everything. He hit it, jammed his fingers in its neck wound, tried to claw its staring green eyes out, but it wouldn’t, it wouldn’t, it wouldn’t—

The door opened, light from the hallway flooding the room. Someone was grabbing him, pulling him away, hands wrapped around his arms and holding them. He tried to pull away, twisting, kicking and lashing out, but he was outnumbered, two to one. “It’s laughing!” he cried. “Make it stop! I hate it!”

They were saying something, something he couldn’t hear over the whispers and laughter. He barely caught snippets: “—needs to calm down—” “—supposed to avoid this—” “—happened to his arms?”

He latched on to that last one, looking at his arms. Scratches lined them up and down, shallow but bleeding. He could feel blood under his fingernails. It was the shadow. It was the shadow. It had to be. “Where is it? Where did it go?” His head whipped around the room. “I hear it! I hear it still!”

More snips. “Gonna be hard—” “—not supposed to use—” “—the head doc can take it up with us.” “—have a better idea, I’d love to hear it.”

Something sharp pricked his neck. Almost instantly, he stilled, starting to relax. But he could still hear the laughter as he faded into unconsciousness.


	28. Ruined Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of various short ficlets that were written in May 2019 to celebrate the one year anniversary of Ego Mayhem 2018. Spamming a variety of different environments and scenarios, all with one or more of the boys at the center.

He’d tried, he’d really tried. But the evidence was stacked against him. Evidence that, as far as he could tell, was faked. But how was he supposed to explain that? He’d protested in court, but he simply couldn’t come up with a reason for how he knew the video was fake when the police’s top analyzers said it was real.

Then there was the motivation. Apparently, he fit the characteristics of a man who would do such a thing. Clearly caught up in the past, not the most responsible person, and a history of “violent” tendencies. He wasn’t sure why that…incident was called a “violent” tendency. Because it was entirely different from what he’d supposedly done this time.

But in the end, despite his desperate pleas and the testimonies of his friends, the “evidence” had been too perfect, and the prosecutor had been too good. The court found him guilty. He’d stared blankly at nothing while the verdict was announced, everything after that one word becoming a blur. It didn’t matter. He’d tried his best, and in the end he couldn’t do anything. Just like always.

He remembered the next few days in flashes. His friends promising they’d find a way around this, or if they couldn’t, promising that it wasn’t the end of the world. One even offered to break him out, which he denied. That would just make everything worse. The detectives asked him questions he couldn’t answer. They wanted to find where the kids had gone, but despite what they thought, he just didn’t know. His wife came to visit, just once, and he couldn’t forget the disappointed, almost disgusted, look on her face. He didn’t blame her. If he was in her position, he would react the same.

Eventually, his friends stopped coming to see him. He wondered if something happened to them, or if they’d just finally come to their senses and given up. It didn’t matter. The result was the same.

He had one day left. One day before they moved him. He didn’t really care where he stayed, he’d still lay on the bed listlessly with vacant eyes. He could hear the officers passing by. They whispered. They wondered if the reason the kids haven’t been found yet was because they weren’t around to be found anymore. If he hadn’t done it, it was unlikely they would’ve lasted this long on their own. He wanted to stand up, to shout at them that they were all wrong, that he’d _never_ do such a thing. But he didn’t have the energy.

The lights turned off. One night left. He didn’t move and kept staring at the ceiling. He’d failed. He’d lost it all, and everyone had left. He didn’t care what happened to him anymore, just wished he could know what happened to the kids.

“Would you like to find out?”

He turned his head to the side, and _he_ was there. His broken silhouette was unmistakable. “What do you want?”

“I’m offering you what _you_ want. You want to see your children again? To be with them again? I’m willing to let that happen. On one condition.”

“What?”

“Give up.”

The next morning, when the cops came down to check on the cells, they received a shock. The one man who’d been down there was lying face-down on the ground. They called for a doctor immediately, but it was too late. It was strange…there wasn’t anything sharp in the cell, of course. So what could’ve caused the long slit across his neck?

Later, the morticians were also surprised to find that the “body” had vanished, and that passerby reported seeing a grinning man walking down the street, seemingly untroubled by the massive cut on his neck.


	29. Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of various short ficlets that were written in May 2019 to celebrate the one year anniversary of Ego Mayhem 2018. Spamming a variety of different environments and scenarios, all with one or more of the boys at the center.

“I̧t͟'s͡ a͠l̢l̡ ͞your f̨a͏u͏lt͡.”

He shakes his head. “No. No, you keep saying that, but you’re wrong. You’re wrong. You did this.”

Everything is dark. The only relief from it is the two specks of green light that stare back at him. And the voice. It almost feels like a part of him, he’s heard it for so long. “Who decided to let me in in the first place? Who decided it would be a good idea to toy with things he doesn’t understand?” A cold laugh. “You’re just as much to blame for everything that’s happened since then.”

Not the same words, but the same concept repeated over and over. It’s been drilled into his head at this point. And, despite every ounce of common sense and logic telling him not to, he’s starting to agree.

And _he_ knows this. He can sense it, sense the fear and guilt and weakness. “G͞ive̢ u̵p͏,” he hisses, the green lights coming closer. “Give in. You can finally rest. Nothing will bother you, nobody will blame you. Isn’t that all you want?”

“You…you’ll hurt people. You’ll hurt my friends.” His protests sound feeble, even to himself.

“And what am I doing now?” He’s amused. “All you’ll do is make it the tiniest bit easier for me. And nobody needs to know. I’ll give you one last offer. Give up now, and I won’t tell anyone how you surrendered by yourself. I’ll make it seem like you never stopped fighting. Your ‘friends’ should appreciate that.”

He’s tired. He’s tired of this fight. And the darkness is starting to look welcoming. “…alright.”

A white smile curves through the darkness before it and the lights flicker out. It begins to fade, just a little bit, becoming more natural. Slowly, he’s conscious of his body, his limbs and face. And then he’s aware of the heavy blanket lying on top of him, and the steady beep of a heart monitor.

He opens his eyes. He doesn’t recognize the hospital room at all. It’s plain, even more so than hospital rooms usually are. Though he knows this is because the occupant of this room wasn’t able to care.

The other one is with him. He feels him, inside his mind, pushing him to the far back. Laughing. He’s overjoyed. After all this time, he’s got what he wanted.

Not yet. He’s still spreading slowly throughout the body, down the nerves and through the veins. The body hadn’t been used for over a year and a half, it would take time to infect every part of it. And that was enough time.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the hand starts to move. It’s having a hard time going fast, which is good, because he’s too focused on his victory to notice such small movements. He’s so concentrated on trying to move and control everything else, that he doesn’t feel the hand reach the face, or the fingers wrap around the device there. But he does notice when the hand starts to pull. He falls silent. _What are you doing?_

 _Exactly what you think I am._ His response is firm, resolved.

 _N̛͠o̴͠!͢͝_ For the first time ever, the virus sounds afraid. _Don’t you understand what you’re doing?!_

_Of course I do._

The virus is trying to take back control of the body’s arm. It trembles as the two fight over it, stalling its steady motion. But the virus is out of practice, and this is his body. With one final movement, the mask is ripped away.

He feels a shortness in his chest. It needs oxygen, but it can’t breathe on its own, not yet. The virus is screaming at him as he drops the mask on the floor. An annoying whine, like an alarm, is blaring over the increased beeping of the heart monitor. _Y͢ou id̢i҉ot!̧ Do you realize what you’ve done?! You’ve doomed yourself to fade away slowly, painfully! You’re letting everyone down!_

 _No, I’m keeping them safe._ He’s not afraid anymore. He just wants to rest. To stop the fight.

The darkness is returning, though now it’s a different kind. Softer. The virus is trying to keep his heart beating, but slowly failing as the beeps from the monitor grow farther and farther apart. The sight of the hospital room fades, and the feeling of the body is fading too.

He hears a door open. “Wh—Jack!” And footsteps running toward him.

He recognizes that voice. He doesn’t have much air left, but he can’t leave him without an explanation. So, he forces awareness to the world again. “…w…wanted…this…”

And then the darkness takes over, and the last thing he hears is the steady tone of a flatline.


	30. Left Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of various short ficlets that were written in May 2019 to celebrate the one year anniversary of Ego Mayhem 2018. Spamming a variety of different environments and scenarios, all with one or more of the boys at the center.

“Hey.”

He didn’t turn around at the voice, instead opting to continue sitting on the edge of the bed and staring at the far wall. “Go away.”

“I just wanted to check on you. See if you’re…see if you’re okay.”

“‘Alright’?” He laughed bitterly. “My best friend—we tried and hoped for so long, and he just—” No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t say the word. “I told you. Go away.”

“You’ve been in the house for a full week. It’s not healthy…I’m worried about you.” A pause. “You’re not thinking about…?”

He didn’t have to ask what the rest of the question was. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t…maybe a little.” It was a relief to admit that.

“Okay, well, I’m going to go get someon—something. Don’t—please don’t do anything drastic. Promise me you won’t.”

“Fine, I promise.”

The door closed again. He hadn’t looked away from the wall during the entire conversation, and he continued to stare at it now. It was certainly really there. Which was…grounding, in the face of everything else that seemed not there at all. Ever since the doc brought the news home, nothing had felt real. It had to be a dream. A long, numb dream, where he lived in a world without his best friend. He had to get out of it soon, right?

The door slammed open again. “Why the fuck are you saying such things?!”

Now that got him to turn around. Only to find his face buried in a tight hug. “Hhh…bro I can’t—I can’t breathe—”

That got him to let go. “You do not think such things! I know you are upset, you are grieving, but you do not think that! You are to stay here! Do you think Jack would be happy to hear this?”

“Well, does it matter?” he mumbled. “Jack’s not here anymore.”

“But _you_ are!” That was a different voice. He looked up as—as all of them crowded into the room. “And guess what? _That_ fucking matters!”

“But…But Jack, he…” He blinked tears out of his eyes. “He left…I-I’m alone…”

 _Good God, man! What are we, if not here to keep you company?_ A pause. _We’d all miss you terribly._

“Yes, exactly.” They all sat on the bed around him. “I know it’s hard. We all…we all miss him. But he did that for us, and I…I don’t know about you, but I’m not going to let that be in vain.”

He took a deep, shaky breath, wiping his eyes. “Th-thanks…thanks guys…” It wasn’t a cure-all, but it was infinitely better to be reminded he wasn’t alone.


	31. Mayhem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of various short ficlets that were written in May 2019 to celebrate the one year anniversary of Ego Mayhem 2018. Spamming a variety of different environments and scenarios, all with one or more of the boys at the center.

Wasn’t it wonderful?

All of them were connected. In ways they didn’t know. They’d all been touched by the unseen event, even—and especially—the ones who thought they’d gotten free. One doesn’t cut strings that easily.

Patience was a virtue that didn’t come freely to him. He wanted to rage, to rip the code of this reality apart, to watch them all come crashing down and drown in their own pain. But recklessness led to failure. Led to _weakness._ And if there was one thing he despised, it was weakness. So he’d taught himself otherwise. To wait and watch for the perfect moment.

In a way, waiting made it all the better. Being careful led to better rewards. He could only imagine their devastation when they discovered the truth about their precious boy. And not only them, but _all_ of the ones in the other world, in _reality,_ who watched their favorite boys as if they were nothing more than a story, not caring what happened as long as it was entertaining. These people who invested so much time in this world. He could practically taste their outcry already.

And that would be all the worse for the ones left. Every minute, every second they talked about him, every time they mentioned him in any context, he grew stronger. These people spent so much time claiming to love them, only to turn their backs and cheer for him. Even if they didn’t know, even if they claimed to hate him, they couldn’t deny the excitement they felt when he broke the barrier between their worlds and appeared for them. 

He grew stronger everyday, tightening the net around the others. And one day, it would snap. He could see the horror that would dawn in their eyes, see it quickly turn to sheer terror once they knew what was coming. Which would fight against it? Which would give in and accept fate? And how long would it be before they all surrendered to what they were always meant to be? Puppets.

He looked forward to the day when the virus built into the code—the virus that was him—would consume this world and move on to the next. But it would take planning and patience for that day to come. For now, he’d have to content himself with the anticipation…and the mayhem he was free to cause.


End file.
